


Riddle Factory

by ninaloveshiddles



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: 4x17, Biting, Blushing, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fucking, Game Shows, Gratuitous Smut, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Hot, Hot Sex, Kissing, Lace Panties, Leather, Licking, Light Bondage, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Making Out, Moaning, Nipples, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Porn, Reader-Insert, Riddle Factory (DCU), Riddler - Freeform, Riddles, Rough Sex, Season/Series 04, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Some Plot, Spanking, The Narrows, Tongues, Tricksters, Undressing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninaloveshiddles/pseuds/ninaloveshiddles
Summary: The reader is a Gotham thief that needs to make money quick. She becomes a contestant on the Riddler's game show and wins by interesting methods. Intrigued by the reader, Riddler decides to have a rather steamy conversation with her after the show.This is most definitely a smut fic.
Relationships: Edward Nygma & Reader, Edward Nygma & You, Edward Nygma/Reader, Edward Nygma/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 148





	Riddle Factory

**Author's Note:**

> My third contribution to the Gotham fandom. Always open to prompts.

“What time is it?” the slender man calls out into the crowd, his face concealed by a bowler hat.

“Riddle time!” the people of the Narrows call back.

“What time is it!?” he asks again, removing his hat to reveal high cheek bones and shining brown eyes.

“Riddle time!” they repeat, the sounds of laughter and beer spilling echoing through the previously abandoned warehouse. You look around, nervously biting your lip. As a thief in Gotham, you rarely spend time in the Narrows; it’s not a very lucrative place for business. But thanks to Penguin’s crime licenses, and your inability to procure one due to his personal grudge against you, it has been a rough couple of months. Selina Kyle said she knew of a place where you could get cash quick, and you weren’t in a position to turn down any opportunity to make money. This however, was not what you had expected.

You had scoped out the place for a week, and the experiences had been less than promising. No one ever won against the Riddler, and losing meant being subjected to abject terrors. You had debated telling Selina to go fuck herself…but the lure of the wads of cash stacked high on a pedestal kept you in your seat. So here you are, standing behind the podium, watching the Riddler rile up the crowd to witness your demise. You tug at the hem of your rather short green cocktail dress; a little nod to the host. The lean man’s enthusiastic spiel pulls you from your thoughts.

“That’s right its Rrrrrrriddle time at The Riddle Factory!” he projects, rolling his arms in time with his words. He turns on his heel and walks back near you to hang his hat on the neon question mark. You feel your stomach clench, though you’re not sure if it’s in response to his unsettling maniacal grin or the way his suit hugs his physique. He crosses his ankle and points two finger guns at you, “Our first contestant tonight is, Y/N.” He stalks over to you, resting his arm on the front of your podium. “Love the dress by the way,” he adds, earning some immature whoops and hollers from the crowd.

“Thank you, Mr. Riddler,” you answer, trying your best to be polite in the presence of someone so dangerous.

“At what brings you here tonight?” he asks, leaning in. He smells harshly of mint and you are able to see the subtle question marks adorning the sides of his glasses.

“Couldn’t get a crime license,” you answer simply with a smile, playing along with him. He grins at you, conveying no actual benevolence. His eyes dart to the exposed cash and then back to you, silently daring you to even try and steal from him.

“Oh now that is a shame. Seems like you and I share similar feelings to the Penguin,” he announces, earning jeers and boos from the crowd at the mention of his name. “So here’s how it’s going to go tonight Y/N, I ask a riddle, you answer correctly. You ask me one, you win ‘em both, and you’re walking outta here with cold hard cash!” The crowd is electrified by him, hanging onto his every word. You don’t trust this man farther than you can throw him, but he’s quite the showman and undeniably compelling. He grabs his hat again and walks towards the middle of the stage, placing the hat dramatically on his head.

“I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?” He flicks his wrist, signaling to the assistant to start the timer. The crowd waits in quiet anticipation, and you feel their gaze shift from the Riddler to you. The green sands begin their descent, and you feel your cheeks redden. Luckily for you, you did your research in anticipation of the show.

“An echo,” you answer confidently. The crowd murmurs momentarily before breaking in a rapturous applause as the Riddler’s gloved hands snap into a thumbs up.

“Impressive, Miss Y/N,” he concedes, his voice low and gravely. “I suppose it’s your turn to try and stump me…good luck,” he says his smile nearly a sneer. The crowd cheers him on, knowing their hero won’t let them down. You take a deep shaky breath, nervous to deliver your riddle. The idea had come to you last night as you struggled to form a question that could possibly stump the Master of Riddles himself.

“What’s green then red?” you ask innocently, grinning at the dapper gentleman across from you. The assistant spins the hourglass and you nonchalantly apply a rather crimson shade of lipstick. The crowd chuckles at your display. The Riddler sighs at the juvenile riddle and hungrily licks his lips, eager to discover what torture awaits you.

“Frogs in a blender, an old favorite of mine. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N but I’m afraid-”

“Incorrect,” you state firmly, earning a gasp from the crowd. The air is thick and heavy as the audience rumbles in excitement. The Riddler looks at you with dangerous eyes, his grin faltering for a moment. He plays along though, still fueled by the audience’s reaction.

“Impossible,” he chastises. “But by all means, tell me what you think the answer is.”

“Come closer,” you beckon, curling your finger. He saunters toward you, giving a quizzical eye to the crowd, as if inviting them to partake in your little game.

“So tell me,” he leans close, bracing himself on the podium. “What’s green then red?”

“The Riddler,” you say slyly, grabbing his tie. You pull him close and plant on firm kiss on his mouth, leaving behind a bright red lip print. The crowd erupts at this, whoops and laughter and cheers. The Riddler’s eyes widen, and you can’t read his shocked expression. His tongue slips from between his lips, lightly tasting the bright red lipstick you left behind, and you notice a blush begin to extend up his throat and into the tops of his ears. “See?” you mouth to him, proving your point.

The Riddler walks to center stage, his face stern and controlled. The crowd falls silent, and you feel your breath still in your chest. He holds out his hands, and the audience members place their faith, their enjoyment, their trust, in those palms. You sigh in relief when his thumbs turn up, signaling your victory to a new wave of cheers and claps. He shoots you a quizzical glance, his face equal parts suspicious and enticed. “Miss Y/N, please exit the stage and enjoy your complimentary drink at the bar. I shall personally provide you your prize money after the show.” This is met with a final cheer and a few low whistles.

........................................................................................................................................................................

You sip your drink, waiting patiently at the bar as the last stragglers begin to clear out. The remaining contestants had suffered rather brutally, leaving all of the prize money to you. Even the bartender begins to leave, giving a final wipe down to the counter as he takes your now empty glass. A few of the lights begin to shut off, save for the blinding follow spot set on center stage. The warehouse is now quiet, and you nervously finger the knife you have strapped to your thigh. A loud slow clap sounds as Riddler appears behind the curtain, stepping into view of the spotlight. He continues to clap a few more times, his signature grin replaced by a devious smirk.

“You clever, clever girl,” he mutters, hopping off the stage to approach you at the bar. “Really, that was quite unexpected. One might even construe it as cheating.”

“Is that so?” you answer calmly. You cross your legs, effectively hiking up your dress to reveal the shining blade in the dim light.

“We really must do more thorough pat downs for weapons,” he says with a mischievous chuckle.

“Is that a promise?” This earns an amused huff from the tall man.

“Luckily for you Miss Y/N, the crowd seemed pleased to see you win. In fact, that’s the only thing that convinced me to allow your egregious behavior.” You lean back against the bar counter, his fingers mere centimeters away from your elbow. You notice his eyes scan over your body, taking in your rather revealing ensemble. Your lipstick kiss has been wiped away, but red remnants still stain his pale skin.

“The only thing? Really?” you ask. You try to remain as steely and confident as possible. The Riddler is not a man made softer by the presence of weakness.

“Well,” he begins with a small cock of his head, “perhaps I was mildly impressed by such a scheme. Not many try to pull one over on me. Though, it was one of the more pleasurable ways I’ve been swindled,” he admits, running his thumb over your scarlet bottom lip. Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks grow pink against the darkness. You need to get the money and leave; that’s the reason for this endeavor. But in this moment, you begin to appreciate how handsome the Riddler truly is. How the dangerous aura emanating from his presence seems to penetrate your skin, seeping into your blood. Your stomach begins to feel warm, and in spite of your best judgment, your gently capture his thumb between your teeth, holding it still for a moment as you lock gazes.

He licks his lips and pulls back, your teeth skating across the skin. Something is building in the air, and you struggle with a decision: smother it, or fan the flames. The heat bubbling in your core decides for you, and the words are spilling out of your mouth before you can think.

“Mr. Riddler, you almost sound like you want me to swindle you again.”

“And what if I do?”

“Say please?” you look at him from beneath your lashes.

“I’m not one for asking permission,” he growls. He lunges at you and you reach for your blade, but he grabs your wrist tightly. “Let’s take this out of the equation,” he murmurs. He captures your mouth, rendering you motionless just long enough to slide the knife from its hiding spot. He throws it across the room, the blade piercing a wood pillar. Your mind catches up with you and you kiss back, crafting your lips to his, tasting the Grasshopper Martini he must have had back stage.

You moan lightly, allowing him to slip his tongue inside your mouth. He tastes you, greedily exploring every inch of your mouth. He wants to conquer you, that much is clear. But you decide to give him a challenge. You hop off the bar stool and push him harshly against the counter, earning a surprised gasp from the Riddler. You pull on his tie, bringing him down to your mouth to capture his bottom lip between your teeth. You suck harshly, heated and wet. He releases a low moan as you hold his mouth hostage. With your other hand your knock off his hat and grip the thick locks at the crown of his head.

“You’ve got a little fight in you,” he growls when you finally release him. His lips are now red and swollen, his eyes shining lasciviously. “But I’ll fix that. Get on the stage,” he commands, unknotting his tie and sliding it sensually from his throat.

“Make me,” you challenge, gripping him by the lapels. You see a fire ignite behind his eyes and he nimbly whirls you around, pressing you against the bar. You throw your hands forward to catch yourself, preventing your face from smacking into the wood. He lifts up the back of your dress, revealing your lacy black thong and spanks harshly with his leather gloves. You emit a shocked gasp.

“What was that again?” he asks, his voice low.

“Make. Me. Riddler.” He puts a hand to your back, pinning you the counter. He’s stronger than he seems, and you wonder what muscles could be hiding under that lean suit. With his other hand he gives another swift smack to your ass, the leather stinging your skin. Shots of pain and pleasure flow to somewhere deep inside you, your sex beginning to pulse expectantly. He spanks you again, and again, and again. He moves his hand from your back to your hair, gripping your locks between his fingers. He pulls your head back to whisper salaciously in your ear.

“I will, and frankly my dear, I don’t care how long it takes.” You whine at this, your scalp tender from the harsh grip he has on your hair. He lightly traces his fingers over your burning skin, admiring his handiwork. He removes his hand and you prepare for another spank, but instead he slips between your thighs, feeling your wetness through your panties. Your entire body shudders and you feel your nipples strain painfully against the material of your dress.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, gripping the counter. He rubs slowly, slipping a finger into the panties. You moan softly, appreciating the feeling of cool leather sliding along your slick pussy. He gives a light circle to your clit, teasing you gently.

“I’ll repeat myself,” he begins, giving a nip to your earlobe. He spins you back around and presses against the front of your body. You can feel his erection through his suit pants and he rotates his hips deliciously. “Go to the stage,” he finishes, putting his finger in his mouth, sucking your taste from his gloved index. Your body breaks out into tremors, every inch covered in gooseflesh despite the heat you feel in your veins. You concede, giving a dreamy nod. “Excellent.” He cups the back of your head, bringing you forward for a slow steamy kiss. He traces his tongue across your lips and you lightly prod back, the two of you sliding and fitting together. He breaks the kiss and extends his arm, motioning for you to lead the way. You walk across the floor and slowly climb the steps onto the stage and into the spot light.

You look out, unable to see far past the lip of the stage. You hear his footsteps, slow and predatory until his face emerges from the darkness. His smile is eager, his deep brown eyes now eclipsed with lust. He’s gripping his tie, pulling on it till it’s taut between his two fists. You freeze as he climbs the stairs, closing the distance. He walks behind you and pulls the tie across your throat. It stifles your breath, the silk strangling you only for a moment. He releases the tie from one of his hands, the material sliding across your throat and back behind you where he uses it to tie your wrists together.

“Did I make you nervous?” he asks, his voice low and curious.

“Were you trying to, Riddler?” you ask, testing your restraints. It’s tight, the knot undoubtedly complex.

“Perhaps, but what I really want to do is make you scream.” He skates his hand across your waist as he positions himself in front of you again. He drops to his knees and pushes your thighs out so that you’re standing in a more wide legged stance.

“Do your worst,” and you really hope he does. He lifts up your dress above your hips, biting his lip as he slowly pulls down your lace panties. He lifts your legs one at a time, removing them from your ankles.

“Considering all the money you’re going to walk out of here with,” he begins, burying his nose into the lace, “I’m taking these as a consolation prize.” He stuffs the underwear into his suit pocket before unbuttoning his jacket and folding it neatly to the side. You lick your lips, watching lean traces of muscles ripple beneath his white dress shirt. He gives a small kiss to your knee, working his way up your thigh. With small licks and bites he reaches the apex, his hot breath tickling at your sex. “Tell me you want this.”

“I do. I want your mouth on me, Riddler,” you whine, your voice sounding embarrassingly needy.

“Call me Ed,” he grins before grabbing your hips and pushing his face into your sex in one smooth motion. You yelp in surprise, but it morphs into a slow drawn out moan. He sucks on the lips of your pussy first, opening his mouth wide to swallow you. You fight at your restraint, wanting to run your fingers through his hair, but it won’t budge. He prods your entrance with his tongue, lapping up your wetness. You toss your head back, submitting to the pleasure he provides. As he flicks his tongue across your clit, his hands crawl up your body and pull down the top of your dress, freeing your breasts from the tight material. Leather clad fingers massage your tits, teasing at pinching at your nipples.

“Oh fuck, Ed. Yes, yes,” you moan, your thoughts far from coherent.

“You taste exquisite,” he breathes, giving a slow lick up your pussy. “Tell me you want me.”

“I need you so bad. I want you inside me, Ed. Make me feel good,” you beg, grinding yourself against his mouth. He grips your ass, the area still tender and gives an almost chaste kiss to your hip bone.

“What do you want me to do to you, Y/N?” He looks up at you from his knees, his eyes hooded with desire. You look down at him, wanting desperately to stroke his smooth face, pull him up for another kiss.

“I want you to fuck me,” you admit. Your body is tense, already half way built up. You need release, and you want Ed to provide it. “I want to know if you’re as big down there as you are everywhere else.” Your inner thoughts slip loosely from mouth, and you feel your cheeks heat up. He grins up at you, that zany almost maniacal grin that the Riddler is known for. He stands, giving you a swift kiss before backing up a few steps. He unbuttons his dress shirt with deft fingers, tossing it to the ground with his suit jacket. You fight the urge to moan as you focus on his broad shoulders and leanly sculpted chest and stomach. A happy trail peeks up from his suit pants, the muscle between his hips pointing down to what you really want to see. He unzips his pants, and you see that he isn’t wearing any underwear. He pulls his impressive length out, his eyes focused on your reaction.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” he purrs, slowly stroking himself. You bite down on your bottom lip and nod eagerly, earning an amused chuckle from him. “Is it big enough for you?”

“Yeah,” you whine breathlessly, your earlier wit and composure dissipating in the wake of your desire. He gives a wry smile, still pumping himself as he gazes at your disheveled half naked appearance. He circles you a few times, evaluating you from all angles. As he stops behind you, he unties your wrists and drags them to your front in a rough motion. You gasp as he presses his massive cock against your bare ass, wrapping his long arms around you to retie your wrists in front of your body.

“You feel that?” he growls against your hair. “How badly I want you?” You pull at your restraint, desperate to touch him, but thwarted by his bindings.

“Tell me why,” you beg, loving the sound of his voice, intoxicated by his words. He grinds against you, sliding against your wet pussy, the friction enticing and unbearable.

“Go over to the podium and bend over like a good little girl,” he commands instead. Your chest tightens, tongues of fire licking through every inch of your body. You spin on your heel and capture his cock in your hands, painfully hard between your palms. He gives a small gasp, his eyes surprised at your disobedience. You give a few strokes and he hisses in pleasure as your thumb glides over the slit, spreading the pre cum.

“Yes sir,” you answer in a sultry tone. You release his cock from your hands without a second glance and walk gingerly over to the podium. You throw your arms out, gripping the wood and leaning over with your legs spread, presenting yourself. You hear a guttural moan and then the sound of footsteps approaching. His hardness presses against you as he grips your hips with bruising force.

“Oh my naughty, clever, sexy, feisty girl,” he begins, each word punctuated with a kiss to your neck, “I want you, because you’re deliciously vexing.” Before you can respond he presses into you smoothly, and you gasp in delighted surprise.

“Holy fuck,” you whine tossing your head back in bliss. He stretches you, his cock pressing deep inside, claiming you. He seductively rolls his hips, moving smoothly in and out, rubbing maddeningly against your walls.

“Oh dear,” he whispers, the Riddler disappearing for a moment, this voice softer. The persona only lapses for a moment and returns with, “You feel fucking amazing. I’m going to cum inside you, claiming you, ruining you for anyone else.” You whine loudly, pushing yourself into him, driving him deeper inside.

“More,” you beg, wanting him to use you, to possess you. He complies with a grunt and slams into you with a sharp thrust, nailing your G spot. You cry out in ecstasy and he continues, setting a punishing rhythm as he takes you for himself. His hands glide up your sides to cup your bare tits, feeling them shake in his palms with each buck of his hips. You are all whines, and moans, and gasps; surrendering to the pleasure of the tall man inside of you. He leans over, the weight of his body across your back, sculpted skin against yours

“Are you going to cum for me, Y/N?” he asks, biting the side of your neck, leaving a claiming mark.

“Mmhmm,” you whine, unable to respond intelligibly. You’re building rapidly, the muscles of your body pulsating and tightening in anticipation of sweet release. You’re close, each thrust guiding you to the precipice.

“Say my name,” he commands, his thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic as he meets his edge.

“Oh fuck, Ed,” you scream, toppling over into your orgasm, your body shaking as your walls contract, cumming around him violently.

“Fuck, yes!” he moans out, cumming hot inside of you. His body shudders for a moment before collapsing on top of you. You both stay motionless for a few minutes, your heated breaths floating through the atmosphere of the Riddle Factory. Your limbs are weak, your body spent but buzzing with warmth.

He pulls out of you slowly, and you vaguely hear him zip himself back up into his pants. You smile faintly as you feel him pull your dress back down. He also pulls the dress back up over your breasts and gently unties your wrists. In a fluid motion he turns you to face him, pressing you close with one arm, the other stroking your cheek. You take the opportunity to finally touch him, one hand feeling his strong chest, the other running your fingers through his hair. He leans down to kiss you, heated and slow, almost romantic. The two of you break apart, but continue to hold onto each other.

“So, where’s my prize money?” you ask, barely concealing your smile. The Riddler erupts into amused laughter, the corners of his mouth nearly touching his eyes.

“Such a determined little vixen,” he responds, his tone revealing hints of admiration. You just smile back, keeping your eyes fixed on him. You have no reason to return once you have the money in your grasps, but a small voice in your mind thinks that you’ve found your new favorite game show.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think! Stay safe out there and I'm always open to prompts :)


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